


Conscience

by sikeykins



Category: Sam & Max
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Mentions of Death, it can be sam/max if u squint, okay it's not explicitly romantic but, this gave me a lot of anxiety posting uHM
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-30
Updated: 2017-04-30
Packaged: 2018-10-25 15:13:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10766847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sikeykins/pseuds/sikeykins
Summary: For a scene hinted at in the 305 ending.---Max argues with Sam's conscience about what to do with monster sam.





	Conscience

**Author's Note:**

> OKAY so here we go !! my first shot @ a sam and max fanfic !! I’m ?? super nervous to post this and I’m not quite sure if I’ve characterized them well enough (but hey, I mean, practice makes perfect,, may or may not have another fic planned out and on the way for a human au prom night >:3c)  
> this is also kind of short because it's just? one scene? idk i've been turning over this idea (i even posted some art of it on my blog ay)
> 
> hooo boy it's been a while since i wrote a fic that didn't use my own ocs um,

                “So _this_ is Sam’s brain – brain room, thing, I guess.” Sybil announces as she steps in, following Max; the rest of the crew has gone elsewhere to give Sybil and Max enough time to fix whatever was possessing Sam’s brain – and, y’know, body.

                The mass of swirly flesh pulsates before the duo, practically _buzzing_ with electricity. Sybil’s hair, tied neatly in her bun, seems to stick up a little, and Max can feel his _own_ fur along his body starting to raise from the electricity.

                It’s cool – it’s _really really cool_.

                The brain glows and pulsates, intriguing Max, luring him in, all he wants to do is –

                “I’m gonna touch it.”

                And he’s off and running, ignoring Sybil’s cry to order Max to wait because hey, neither of them knows what would happen, but Max’s mind is already set on this task at hand. And the minute his _actual_ hand touches the flesh, a bolt of electricity surges up his body and it kinda actually _really_ hurts.

                His body locks up, muscles tensing as the shocking heat courses through him for a moment before relenting, finally giving Max the chance to let his hand fall away and collapse on the ground of Sam’s brain – room – thing, whatever.  

                                                                                                ---

                It smells smoky, like someone’s roasting something. Rabbit? Is someone cooking rabbit? Who on earth would be cooking _rabbit_ inside of _Sam_ when his precious, needy life was at _stake_?

                Also who the hell is banging pots against Max’s skull from within?

                With a low groan, Max props himself up on his elbows, aware of a heavy, worn out feeling that settles in his muscles and practically claws at him to try and drag him back down. He tentatively presses the palm of his hand against his forehead, just before his ear, whining to no one in particular, “Cripes, my head -,”

                “You okay, lil’ buddy?”

                Max’s eyes snap open like he just got another jolt of electricity surging through his veins, and it kinda feels like there is because now his heart is fluttering in a way that it probably shouldn’t.

                It’s _Sam_. Like, actual Sam – not grotesque electro-monster that’s zapping the city. It’s Sam, it’s _Max’s_ Sam, his Sam.

                Sam leans forward, his arm outstretched and hand open, inviting.

                “ _Sam_!” Max lurches forward, hand clasping in Sam’s own outstretched one, and Sam tugs him back to his feet, “It’s so good to see you again!” Even when Sam’s hand pulls away from Max, Max doesn’t withdraw from Sam; instead, he surges forward and buries his face in Sam’s stomach, arms circling around and clutching onto the fabric of Sam’s suit. Sam tenses at first, as if he’s _surprised_ by Max clinging to him – which he shouldn’t be, Max thinks, especially considering Max is always climbing on Sam in one way or another.

                Whatever.

                Max pulls away after a moment, his wide grin filled with the abominable shark teeth of his once again gracing his countenance; with his hands on his hips, Max tilts his chin up so he can watch Sam intently, “Geez, how long was I out? Last time I checked, you were a giant monster destroying the city!”

                “Well, I mean,” Sam begins for a moment, voice faltering a bit, “I’m not _exactly_ Sam, not entirely.”

                “Wh-,” Max’s features fall, teeth clenching together for a moment, “Then what are you? A clone? Some impersonator? Listen, I’ve gone through _a lot_ today and -!”

                “Woah, woah, woah, Max, hold up, little pal, it’s _me_!” Sam interjects quickly before Max could finish his rambling rant, “I’m everything that makes Sam, Sam. Just, without his body. I’m his conscience.”

                Max takes this time to look around the area he found himself in; it’s, quite literally, pitch black. But not in the dark sense, considering he can see Sam and himself just as clearly as in broad daylight, but everything else is just pure, absolute nothingness. To his left looks to be a window of what Max can only conclude is what monster Sam could see, inferring from the burning buildings and horrible apocalyptic city view.

                “I’m really wrecking up the place, aren’t I?” Sam’s voice holds an absence of that familiar, determined tone he normally bore.

                “Oh yeah, definitely. It’s _super cool_ ,” Max practically gushes, swooning over the destruction monster Sam lays, “Like, it’s – it’s just – _wow_! You _ate_ a building! Like, a literal building top, straight up ate it! How cool is that? You trampled another couple, too. It’s like an actual movie out there, Sam! You’re like an actual movie!”

                When Sam doesn’t grin in any shape or form at Max’s comments, Max’s own features falter a minute, devilish sneer falling and eyes flashing with – concern? panic? – _something_ for a brief second. He catches himself, though, and continues on in stride, “C’mon, big guy, buck up! It’s pretty neat. My partner is a however-many-foot giant monster! You’ve even got a cool design.”

                “Max, I need you to do something for me.”

                Max sours again, as if stung by the way Sam sounds, the way he _looks_.

                “You know I don’t like that tone, Sam! It makes you sound all serious and – I just don’t like it, you know!”

                “But it _is_ serious.”

                Max stares up at Sam blankly, that beaming, toothy smile of his completely erased from his features because damn, not even _Max_ can crack some morbid joke to ease the tension building in the room.

                “I don’t like not being in control anymore, Max,” Sam begins, eyes wandering to the window to observe the destruction on the city’s expense, “I don’t like what I’m doing to the city – _my_ city.”

                “So, what? I know that, Sam! You’re too much of a big ol’ mushy-gushy softie to _properly_ enjoy the wicked awesome stuff you’re doing.” Max pauses, flashing Sam an attempt at a reassuring grin, before tapping his knuckles against Sam’s forearm in a light, playful punch, “Don’t worry, buddy! We’ve got this handled. Sybil and I took a whole team into your body an’ we’re gonna stop whatever’s makin’ you do such wild stuff!”

                “I don’t think that’s gonna be – oh, I don’t know, possible?”

                Max doesn’t even bother considering _why_ , but only, “But how else can we fix you?”

                “Don’t fix me,” Sam trails off for a moment, glancing in Max’s general direction and catching the uncomfortable, baffled expression on the lagomorph’s face, “Destroy me.”

                Max _laughs_ – and it’s not some heinous, shrieking cackle of delight at the melancholic idea of killing Sam, it’s a laugh of pure _shock_. It’s a laugh ripped from Max’s chest as a reflexive, startled response, a laugh that leaves Max’s chest stinging and aching and kind of like he’s run out of breath.

                Sam doesn’t laugh either like Max was hoping he’d do; he doesn’t laugh and nudge Max and snort, “Just kidding, buddy! Here’s the _actual_ plan I’ve already made because I’m the plan man!”

                No, no. He just looks at Max with an unreadable expression.

                Max’s grin wavers again.

                “I’m not killing you, Sam. I know I like to jump on you and kick you and I make jokes about our deaths or your death or _whatever_ but, holy shit, I’m not gonna _kill_ you.” Max rattles off, speech rapidly picking up pace as the gravity of the situation settles on his panicky train of thought.

                “Language.” Sam grumbles, and Max fights the urge to literally _scream_. Like just straight up start screaming into the void.

                “Max, you know you have to.” Sam continues on, and Max butts in swiftly, “No! No I don’t! And guess what, I’m not going to!”

                “I don’t want to hurt anyone, I don’t want to destroy the city.” Sam sounds like he’s pleading, “Please, just, understand what could happen in this situation.”

                “I _do_ understand! I _understand_ that I could lose my – my – _you_ , for the rest of my _life_!” Max counters sharply, voice raising in volume a bit more. Sam gestures to the window, a horrified look gracing his countenance, “Max, I could _destroy_ the world.”

                “Who cares about the world?”

                “ _I_ do!” Sam sounds appalled, taken back by the bluntness of Max’s question; he lifts up his hand, pointing his index accusingly at Max, “And so should you.”

                “Well, I don’t!” Max retorts, reaching up and batting away Sam’s hand with his own, and the panic starts to settle in because it sounds like Sam actually _wants_ this, like Sam isn’t going to give this up anytime soon, “I don’t – I don’t understand! You didn’t – you haven’t done anything wrong! _I_ haven’t done anything wrong!”

                That’s an understatement, but, whatever. It’s not the point right now.

                Sam’s brows furrow as he stares down at the protesting lagomorph; his hands clench for a moment and disappointment hangs heavy in his voice, “This isn’t about you.”

                “ _We_ didn’t do anything wrong!” There. He corrected the statement – shouldn’t Sam be happy now?

                “Max, this isn’t a punishment.” His voice softens, because _now_ Sam gets it, at least he thinks so. He’s trying to handle it the best he can, at least, because this is still _a lot_ to put on Max.

                “It feels like it!” Max’s voice breaks, and as embarrassed as he _should_ feel, Max doesn’t really _care_ at the moment, because this kind of sucks. This sucks. This really, 100%, super mega sucks.

                “It’s not, I promise. You – we have to do this, it’s for the good of the city - ,” Sam begins, only to be interrupted by Max again, “I don’t care about the _city_!”

                “Max, you don’t mea-,”

                “I care about _you_!” Max practically _screams_ , voice echoing across the vast nothingness of the room. Had their voices been echoing this whole time? Max hadn’t noticed – too busy preoccupied by the clatter of voices, but now? It’s silent. Sam fell silent – really quiet, _awfully_ quiet. Max can’t even see Sam’s expression, he’s too busy focusing on the black nothingness beneath his feet, hands balled up in fists by his sides. His throat feels tight and uncomfortable and kind of like it’s burning; he keeps blinking, because Max isn’t the guy who _cries_. Heck, everyone kind of assumed it was impossible for Max to cry.

                But this is just – it’s a lot to handle. Max would rather deny it until the last possible second.

                “Alright then, don’t do it for the city.”

                His ears perk.

                “Do it for me.”

                Max looks up, half stunned, half intrigued; he opens his mouth to speak, but this time it’s Sam’s turn to interject, “Wait, just, hold on a second, little buddy. Just hear me out.”

                Part of Max doesn’t really want to, but he gives Sam a shot anyways.

                “I don’t want to do this to the city. You know how I love the city! I mean, our entire job is about trying to save the city.”

                “We destroy the city in half of our cases,” Max grumbles, bitter and fussy and glower returning to his demeanor.

                Sam blows a puff of air from his shiny black nose in the form of a chuckle, and the corners of his lips quirk up in a small smile; Max eases up, tension slacking a little from his shoulders.

                “Yeah, I guess that’s true.”

                “You’ll miss our cases, won’t you?” Max’s voice is startling low, and the alarm is even written on Sam’s face. He nods slowly, “Of course I will. I’ll miss a lot. But, you know, we won’t be able to solve anything if the world ends. Max, I don’t want to destroy the world intentionally.” Sam pauses again, sucks in a breath, and brings up a topic that hits a little closer to home, “Do you know how awful I’d feel if something happened to you?”

                “ _Sam_ ,” Max whines, but Sam shakes his head a bit more fervently than last time, “Please, do this for me.”

                “I don’t know what to say, Sam.”

                “I don’t know,” Sam shoves his hands into his pockets, “Just crack some joke about how cool it’ll be to take down a giant however-many-foot monster, just like in the movies?”

                There’s a minute of really, really uncomfortable silence; Max isn’t normally the one to go quiet, and Sam is clearly, very visibly, just as uncomfortable with the whole ‘Max-being-super-quiet’ thing.

                And then Max leans forward and slumps, forehead dropping against Sam’s gut limply, and the silence turns to something more. It turns into the kind of hush that falls in the final goodbye of a movie, when the hero takes off to save the world by some big sacrifice.

                Sam shifts, kneeling down to Max’s height, and brings Max forward in a hug; Max reciprocates with surprisingly no protest. He wraps his scrawny little arms around Sam’s neck, clutching the collar of Sam’s dress shirt, and buries his face in the padding of Sam’s shoulder.

                Sam’s warm, he’s safe and solid and warm. He’s a comfort that Max realizes he should’ve taken more knowledge to in his life.

                “I should’ve hugged you more often,” Max muses, “Very cushiony.” Max doesn’t want to let go.

                Neither does Sam.


End file.
